


Six Months

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bigs and littles are known, Caregiver, Cartinelli Cameo, Diapers, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Infantilism, Jarvis (Iron Man movies) is a Good Bro, Natasha Needs a Hug, Non-Sexual Age Play, Pacifiers, Sickfic, Steve Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 18:16:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11514813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "The Stark Center employs over fifty handlers, capable of caring for littles that are anywhere from infants up to twelve years old. Plus we have a steady stream of volunteers. The kids can play, have their snacks, and watch movies, do crafts… Our motto is ‘Exhaust them before their caregiver picks them up.’”Steve thinks Natasha is a volunteer at a littles' day care center.  She's not.





	Six Months

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in another pique of "I shouldn't write ageplay, I'm deleting everything, it's so wrong, I'm never writing anything like this again." I don't even know. 
> 
> But I've had this idea in the back of my head for a while now, so here it is. I don't usually write characters that age this young, so I hope I've done it well, and I hope you enjoy. Thank you to everyone who reads and comments on everything I write. You guys make me feel a little less ashamed that I enjoy writing these types of stories, to be honest. Thumbs up.

“I’m just saying,” Tony shrugged, “The little shits know I’m just like them, so even the armor isn’t that impressive.”

“And you think I’m more impressive?”

“No.” Tony pointed his finger at Steve. “No one is more impressive than I am, flag-boy. Buuut…” He crossed his arms over his chest and waggled his head from side to side as he spoke. “You’re Captain America. And everyone knows who Captain America is, and everyone knows Captain America is a caregiver. So it would work to your advantage.”

“Does Pepper let you be this manipulative?” Steve asked, his own arms now crossed over his chest. Still, he was grinning. Both he and Tony knew that Steve would say yes as soon as Iron Man had asked him.

“She does not, which is maddening. I can charm any man, woman, caregiver or little in the world… except Pepper Potts. It drives me crazy.”

“Mm-hmm, I’m sure you hate it.”

“Completely. Five o’clock, Cap.”

Steve should’ve been exasperated as Tony sauntered off down the hall, but he couldn’t help be anything but amused. Tony was for the most part remarkably good at reading people, and both Avengers knew that Steve would be powerless to turn down an appearance at the littles’ center. The idea of little boys and girls tugged at Steve’s heartstrings, which Tony played effortlessly when something came up and Iron Man couldn’t be there that week. Tony also wasn’t above the puppy look, which may not have worked all the time with his own caregiver, but Steve hadn’t had as much practice resisting it as Pepper did.

He couldn’t feel suckered in, though. As a matter of fact, he was actually a little excited. Steve had been classified as a caregiver just a month after his 16th birthday… over five decades ago. He still remembered the pure elation and apprehension he felt upon receiving his letter. From that moment on, he’d wondered if every person he met or passed on the street would be The One. He’d even thought maybe it would be Bucky, but James Buchanan Barnes had looked at him as if he’d grown a third head when he mentioned it. Bucky may have been classified as a little, but it was pretty clear to both him and his best friend that he would never be _Steve’s_ little.

Life sort of changed when Steve had met Peggy Carter. She was also classified as a caregiver, which he could now admit to himself had been a huge disappointment. Peggy was perfect in every single way, despite that fact, and it was Peggy who had taught Steve that he could love passionately, fiercely, with every fiber of his being, someone who wasn’t his little one. It was Peggy who taught Steve that he was a man, and not just a daddy.

She was the first one he had needed, when SHIELD had pulled him out of deep freeze.  His best girl Peggy, now an old woman trying desperately to cling to memories that kept slipping through her fingers. His greatest comfort against the shock of that first time seeing her again had been the pictures of a pretty Italian girl that adorned the walls of Peggy’s room at the nursing home. Her wife, Sharon had explained, and Peggy’s little girl. Steve had been surprised at the realization of Peggy falling in love with another woman, but later that night he’d brushed away a few tears and smiled, his heart full. She had been happy. Thank God.

_He_ was bitter, though.  He should have had that happiness, too. Late one night in the gym he’d railed against a punching bag, and Fury who stood just to the left of it. He should have been allowed to live his life, to find a wife or a little girl or boy to take care of. He should have been allowed long years of good memories.

Or he should’ve been left to die in the water, after saving the world. Like he’d chosen to.

“Nothing in my life has been my choice except to take that plane down.” The bag exploded with a well-placed right hook, and Steve stepped back as the sand began to rain onto the floor around them.

“So go home and choose to cry about it. Choose to become a drug addict or an alcoholic,” Fury said calmly. “Choose to do nothing but watch tv all day or spend all your time on the computer, now that you’ve learned how to turn it on. Internet’s a fascinating place, Rogers.”

“Did you take classes on how to be condescending?”

“Oh no, that comes naturally.”

“Right.”

“You could also choose to suck it up and realize that you still have a chance to live your life. Gonna be a different one. Lots more lights and cars. Hell of a lot louder. And you can still save the world. Bet you could even find you a gal or a little. But you won’t find any of it down here in a gym.”

So he’d tried not to mope. He led the Avengers. He had his own apartment. He even went on a few dates and once to a gathering of caregivers and their littles. But the dates just made him miss Peggy, and seeing happy caregivers with their littles just served to bring out even more of the loneliness he felt.

But when Tony had mentioned the care center, and the littles that hung out there at any time, it had snapped Steve out of his one-man pity party. At first after the deep freeze he hadn’t even realized there _was_ such a thing as care centers for littles. There hadn’t been in his time, anyway. There were programs that assisted littles who hadn’t found their caregivers yet, but Steve had always just assumed everyone found that one special person eventually, no matter how long it took.

“Nah, it’s not even like that,” Tony had clarified. “It’s more of a day care. They babysit littles whose bigs are at work. The kids get antsy around five when it’s time for their caregivers to pick them up, so the handlers like it when I can come around and distract them. Otherwise they get cranky.”

That relieved Steve, and also gave him a bit more newfound respect for Tony Stark. Stark hadn’t had it easy, that was putting it mildly. It had kind of been a rough adjustment for Steve to know that Howard had been a tremendously good friend to him, and an extremely lousy father to Tony. Pepper had once sadly confessed to Steve that whether Tony was in his little headspace or the CEO of Stark Industries, he was always trying to please his father. It made Steve angry, but he kept his frustration in check for Tony. And it was somehow sweet, that the man who never felt like he was good enough put aside his own time to show up as Iron Man for a bunch of tired and hungry little boys and girls.

Once he was suited up, Steve hopped on his motorcycle and sped it downtown to the address Tony had given him. It was a large brick building spread out over nearly an entire city block.

_Stark Center for Play and Learning_ read the sign in front, and Steve shook his head with a laugh. He parked his bike and made his way to the door, pressing the buzzer for entry.

“Can I help you?”

“It’s Captain America, ma’am,” he said in response to the voice over the speaker. “Iron Man couldn’t make it so he asked me to fill in.”

He heard the door unlatch, and was met with a beaming woman who ushered him aside with a quick motion of her hand.

“Oh, the kids are going to be so excited that you’re here. They adore Iron Man, but they also know it’s Mr. Stark and that he’s little. They’d rather just play with him, but I don’t think Mr. Stark is quite there yet.”

“So Tony built this place?” Steve glanced around him, taking in the administrative offices as he and the lady with the badge that said “Aunt Katie” walked down a hall with wooden floors.

“Mm-hmm, about five years ago. He really intended it to be for SHIELD agents and their little ones, but the city had such a need for a bigger center. Mr. Stark didn’t want any littles being alone because they had no other place to go while their caregivers were at work, so here we are.”

The hall widened out and the wood floors were replaced by carpeted ones. Steve began to hear the shouts of the kids as they played, as well as a wail or two from a room with a closed door marked _Nursery_. More rooms were divided into _Snack Room, Movie Theater, Changing Room, Drawing Room_ , and _Library_ , and Steve grinned when he saw a crowd of boys and girls gathered around a man reading Harry Potter aloud. There seemed to be a room for everything a little could want, equipped with what Steve knew was the latest technology.

“Must cost an arm and a leg to come here,” he murmured, half to himself.

“Oh, no,” Aunt Katie shook her head. “The center is run solely on grants from Stark Industries, though we do accept donations. Tuition is completely free.”

“Wow,” Steve said, surprised. “So what programs are offered here?”

“Almost anything you can think of. The Stark Center employs over fifty handlers, capable of caring for littles that are anywhere from infants up to twelve years old. Plus we have a steady stream of volunteers. The kids can play, have their snacks, and watch movies, do crafts… Our motto is ‘Exhaust them before their caregiver picks them up.’”

Aunt Katie winked, and Steve laughed out loud as they approached the end of the hall to the large gymnasium. Kids were playing basketball, or ring toss games for the littler ones; there were even a couple of plastic sandboxes set up alongside one wall. Handlers walked in and out of the chaos, tying shoes, picking up a little girl that had tripped, even escorting one rather cranky-looking young man off to a corner.

“You ready?” Steve’s companion asked him, and he nodded. Couldn’t be any worse than his USO shows, right?

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Everyone!” Aunt Katie’s voice echoed across the gym, and it was as if all motion stopped and all eyes turned to them. A few gasps could be heard, and Steve squared his shoulders, adjusting his shield on his arm.

“We have a special treat for you today! Iron Man has asked _Captain America_ to come see us! Isn’t that nice? What do you say to Captain America?”

A chorus of “thank yous” rose up along with cheers, and in less than a second Steve found himself bombarded with excited littles. One of the handlers directed Steve to sit on the bleachers so that he could essentially conduct show and tell with his shield. A few of the bigger kids wanted autographs, so paper was rounded up along with a bright red crayon, which made Steve smile. They were so easy to please, these little ones, he thought to himself. Either that, or it was just easy for him to be there with them, to answer their questions or balance a little baby boy on his knee as he told them a war story (not too graphic).

Steve thought it was probably a bit of both.

After the initial excitement wore off a lot of the littles dispersed to start up their games again, and Steve was free to wander around and observe. The happiness when each boy or girl was picked up by their caregiver was contagious; it made Steve so glad to see a mommy swoop her baby girl up in her arms, or an uncle ruffle his bigger boy’s hair. Several of the caregivers had two littles, which Steve couldn’t help but respect. To be able to share love with another little, to create your own family… it was special, and it made his heart ache a little.

He stayed longer than he’d intended; by seven p.m. most of the kids were gone, except for a few whose caregivers worked the evening shift. Aunt Katie had told him that the center could stay open until midnight if it had to, but that usually everything was closed down by eight. That was nice, Steve thought. Everyone safe at home by the time it was dark.

The near emptiness of the building made it impossible for Steve not to notice the young woman coming out of one of the rooms as he was walking down the hall toward the exit.

Her bright red hair would have been unmistakable even if she hadn’t nearly run into him.

“Natasha?” Steve said in surprise.

She stared for a moment almost as if she didn’t know him, a red duffle bag slung over one shoulder. Then her eyes narrowed, and she rounded on him with such a threatening air that it made _Captain America_ take a step back.

“You don’t mention this,” she hissed at him. “Not one word, and don’t you dare look at my file.”

“Wait, wha—“ He started to say, but as quick as lightning Romanoff was gone. She wasn’t even in the parking lot when Steve walked out to his motorcycle.

He sighed and pulled out his phone.

_Not sure why you don’t want anyone to know that you volunteer, but I don’t tell secrets. I also don’t read anyone’s file._

The implication was clear; Steve knew Romanoff had read his from the second he’d been unthawed.

Seconds later his phone beeped with a new message.

_Sorry_.

He was pretty sure that she meant sorry that she wasn’t sorry for reading his file, which was typical Natasha. She made no apologies for the fact that she was a former assassin and Russian spy, at least not verbally. Steve knew that Natasha was trying to make up for her past in her own way, especially by joining SHIELD. He figured volunteering at the center was just another part of it. But knowing her allies was just as important to Natasha as knowing her enemies, a trait Steve couldn’t exactly find fault with. He’d like to think that he and Natasha were friends, but Steve also knew that self-preservation would always come before loyalty, for Natasha Romanoff.

To his credit, Tony didn’t bat an eye when Steve suggested he start volunteering at the center on a regular basis. Steve suspected that as much work as he’d put into the center, Tony was still glad to have that off of his plate. Investors were constantly breathing down his neck for this, that, and the other, so one less thing for him to have to participate in was helpful.

Besides, Steve said to himself, he really enjoyed it. His second visit to the center the kids didn’t fawn over him as much, unless they were a little one that had just been enrolled and had no idea that Captain America would come to visit once a week. Still, there was never a shortage of little girls or boys eager to curl up at his feet and listen to him read a story, or watch Wreck It Ralph with him. (He hadn’t seen that one yet and almost felt like a kid himself.)

Twice he caught Natasha coming out of the room labeled _Nursery_ with her duffle bag, and twice she just gave him that same stony look and was gone before they could even talk. He didn’t dare try to talk about it while they were at work; cornering Natasha would never have gone well. Besides, what business was it of his if Natasha wanted to volunteer at the center to take care of the babies?

It was unexpected though. Of all the agents of SHIELD that Steve felt he had a relatively close relationship with, Natasha was the last one he would’ve thought would be a caregiver, especially for the infants and toddlers. Natasha wasn’t _uncaring_ ; as much as she often tried to act like she was, Steve knew differently. He’d seen Natasha shove bystanders out of harm’s way while they tried to save the world. He’d seen the way she smiled at actual little kids on the street who recognized her. Steve knew she had a heart; of course she did.

He just hadn’t ever thought that translated to being a caregiver. But Natasha had surprised him more than once already. Might as well just add it to the list.

On his fourth visit to the center, Steve walked into the gym and almost immediately his attention was drawn to a sobbing little boy that sat on the bleachers at the far end. A caregiver was making his way over, but Steve caught his eye and waved him off. Steve approached the little one carefully and sat down with him, giving a bit of space between the two just in case.

“Hi there, buddy,” Steve said easily. The little boy was blonde, and the tears streaking down his cheeks were already breaking Captain America’s heart.

“My name’s Steve. What’s yours?”

He hadn’t noticed the little boy before; today was apparently his first day.

“J-Jeremy.”

“Jeremy? I like that name. How old are you?”

“Three.”

Steve nodded to himself. Something had clearly upset the boy, and in Steve’s mind it was a lot easier to solve the problems of a toddler than it was of an older little. Kids from the six to twelve range often didn’t want to tell why they were upset. Toddlers were too open with their emotions for that. It wouldn’t take too much for Steve to get to the bottom of things.

“Can I be your friend, Jeremy?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Great!” Steve said with a smile. He reached out and gently laid his hand on Jeremy’s back. When the little boy didn’t flinch, Steve continued, “What’s got my new friend Jeremy so sad, huh?”

The little boy _wailed_ , and Steve hastily drew back. “D-Daddy mad at me and he left me and he’s _never coming back_!”

Steve’s mouth dropped open in shock, both at the little boy’s anguish and his words. Surely he hadn’t just been—

“Jeremy’s daddy started a new job today,” came a voice next to them, and Steve looked up to see an older handler looking down at them with a kind expression. “I don’t think Jeremy’s used to being away.”

“Oh, _honey,_ ” Steve said sympathetically, and without thinking, held out his arms. “Do you mind if I pick you up, Jeremy?”

The little boy turned a pair of miserable blue eyes to Steve and nodded. Steve scooped him up, balancing the little boy on his hip and accepting the tissues the handler gave him before Steve began to walk the periphery of the gym, patting Jeremy’s back in time with his steps.

“You want to tell me why you think your daddy’s mad at you?” Steve asked carefully. He wiped the boy’s eyes and directed him to blow his nose into the tissue.

“’Cause he left me!” Jeremy cried. “I wanted to stay home with Daddy and he said no! An’ I asked and asked and he yelled and said I had to be a big boy!”

“Oh,” Steve said softly, nodding in understanding. Although he didn’t have a little, Steve could imagine just how easily it was to get frustrated and hurt their feelings without meaning to, especially if they were as little and sensitive as Jeremy seemed to be.

He dropped the soiled tissues into the waste bin and continued walking with Jeremy still in his arms. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw Natasha, standing in the opening of the gym and watching, an unreadable expression on her face. He met her gaze for a minute, then turned his attention back to the upset little boy.

“What does your Daddy do, Jeremy?”

“He a doctor.” Steve grinned, noting the little tone of pride in Jeremy’s voice. “Daddy work at big hospital now. Take care of old people like Steve.”

Steve couldn’t help but laugh, glad when it made Jeremy giggle slightly. A few stray tears were still staining the little boy’s cheeks, but that was better than the choked sobs from before.

“Daddy sounds like he has a pretty big job. But he has to be away a lot now?” Jeremy nodded silently, and Steve reached up and stroked the boy’s hair out of his eyes.

“So now you have to come here and play but I bet it can be scary, right?”

“Yeah.” Jeremy’s voice was small. “I don’t know anybody. Tried to tell Daddy but he not listen.”

“Hmm. Can I tell you a secret, Jeremy?”

“What?”

Steve leaned to whisper into the little boy’s ear. “Daddies get scared sometimes too.”

His new friend’s eyes widened. “Daddies not get scared!”

He could still see Natasha, watching them, almost as if she was evaluating if Steve was qualified enough to be trying to take care of the little boy. It irked Steve, but he ignored it, and turned so that they were walking away from her.

“Daddy’s a doctor in a new big hospital, and I bet he doesn’t know anybody either, yet,” Steve said, as if he was confiding the biggest secret anyone had ever known. “It can be real scary to have to go somewhere if you don’t know who your friends are.”

“Yeah,” Jeremy said, a little doubtfully, and Steve knew he was getting somewhere.

“But daddy knows his little boy is scared, so daddy tries to be brave for you. But he worries because you’re scared, and he worries because he’s scared, and so he yelled at you. But I bet if you talk to Daddy when he picks you up he’ll tell you he didn’t mean to, and that he’s sorry.”

“You think so?”

“I know he didn’t mean to.”

“… Daddy will pick me up? He not left forever and ever?”

Steve walked back to the bleachers and maneuvered so that Jeremy was sat on a lower one, looking up at him.

“No, little buddy, your daddy hasn’t left you forever and ever. I don’t know your daddy but I bet he loves you an awful lot, and he’d never even _think_ about leaving you. He wants you to make new friends, and he’ll make new friends, and then he’ll pick you up and… what do you like to do when you’re home?”

“Eat,” Jeremy said, and Steve chuckled.

“I like to do that too.”

“An’ Daddy will play games with me.”

“That sounds _great_. Maybe you can learn a new game today and you can teach Daddy when you’re home tonight.”

Jeremy’s eyes lit up. “I wanna do that!” He leapt up to run off, then turned around suddenly and wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck.

Natasha was gone from the doorway of the gym.

“Thank you for being my friend, Uncle Steve!”

“You bet, buddy,” he said.

Steve’s apartment felt a little emptier that night. He made dinner and drained a glass of wine to help him sleep. But he kept dreaming of a faceless little one in his arms, and his rest was fitful.

One Friday evening Cap decided to forego his uniform and dress down in just jeans and a tee-shirt to hang out with the kids at the center. He liked volunteering more than he’d thought he would, he realized. Not having a little of his own it felt good to at least be around them for a couple of hours, and be there for them if they needed, like Jeremy had. There’d been a few more instances of comforting a crying little, including a girl that aged around ten. That had been a little harder; it had taken Steve about thirty minutes to figure out why she was upset. He’d even had to put a young man in the corner, which hadn’t at all been fun. But it was practice, he told himself. For eventually.

Maybe.

To his surprise, Natasha was already sitting in the gym when he got there, nearly all the way at the top of the bleachers. Even from his vantage point below her, Steve could see that something wasn’t right. She had her ever-present duffle bag, but it was tossed haphazardly at her feet, and she was hugging herself tightly. Her face was flushed, and Steve could see that she was shivering.

He mounted the bleachers two at a time until he was stood at her side.

“Natasha? You all right?”

“Go ‘way, Rogers.”

“You look sick.”

“M’fine. Go away.”

“Fine,” Steve muttered, going back down the bleachers. Let her take care of herself, he thought.

Still, he walked over to one of the handlers. “I don’t think Natasha should be looking after the kids today. She doesn’t seem to be feeling well.”

“Looking after the kids?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, himself confused by the handler’s look of confusion. He glanced back up at Natasha. It was the middle of June and she was wearing a sweater. That was weird.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

He wasn’t sure what there was to understand, but Steve tried again. “I know that she takes care of the babies in the nursery, but I really do think she’s sick today. And if it’s contagious she shouldn’t be around the little ones.”

“Uh… Captain Rogers.” Now the handler looked downright flustered, and embarrassed.

“I think there must have been some miscommunication along the way, Steve, but Natasha is not a handler here. She doesn’t volunteer at the center, she _attends_ it.”

“What?” Steve said.

“I thought you knew. Natasha stays in the infant and toddlers room.”

It actually… made sense. Sort of. Steve stared up at the shivering woman and the pieces fell into place. Why she didn’t want him reading her file. Why she completely avoided him any time they were together in the center, even though she probably _knew_ that Steve would’ve loved to have someone to talk to about being a caregiver, but not having anyone to care for…

“Who’s her caregiver?” Steve asked abruptly.

“I only see her every now and then,” the handler answered. “As far as I know, she hasn’t got one.”

Steve rubbed his head with his thumb and forefinger. So that’s what it was, then? Natasha came to the center because she didn’t have a caregiver. And at the end of the day… there was no one to pick her up. She just returned to her apartment back at Stark Tower.

What did she do when she was sick? How was she going to get home tonight? Who was going to give her medicine, take her temperature, tuck her into bed and make sure she was safe and not in any pain?

It made Steve feel sick to his stomach. “Thanks,” he said to the handler, before rushing back up the bleachers again.

“Natasha,” he said softly. He reached out to touch her forehead, but she shoved his hand away.

“Leave me alone.”

“Natasha,” he said again, a little more firmly this time. “I don’t think you feel very good today, do you?”

She didn’t answer, but Steve noticed that she had folded into herself a little more, looking even smaller.

He scooted closer, encouraged when she didn’t move away. Carefully he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, then touched her forehead with his other palm.

“Natasha, you’re burning up,” he said, alarmed. “We’ve got to get you to the doctor.”

“Can take care of myself.”

“Sure you can,” he agreed. She’d done it for this long, hadn’t she? He fought down the feeling in his gut; Steve falling apart was definitely not what Natasha needed right now.

“You’re a brave big girl who can take care of herself most times, but not tonight, I don’t think. Can you let me help you?”

Her hesitation was palpable, but so was the moment that Natasha Romanoff gave up. She leaned her head against Steve’s shoulder. He dared to drop a gentle kiss to the top of her head before shouldering her duffle bag and standing, lifting Natasha up into his strong arms.

She was limp and boneless, and Steve stroked her hair as he carefully strode down the bleachers and out into the parking lot.

“What hurts, sweetie?”

“Throat.”

She did sound hoarse. A little girl burning up and with a sore throat didn’t bode well. Steve glanced at his motorcycle and sighed before managing to fish around in his jeans pocket for his phone.

“Stark.”

“Tony, can you send a car around to the center? And can I stay at the Tower tonight?”

“Sure, red, white, and blue, what’s up?”

Steve paused, not sure what he could say, but there was no real way around it. “Let’s just say I’m in the company of a very sick little girl, and I need to get her to the doctor and then home.”

“Gotcha, sick redhead.”

Steve actually pulled the phone away from his ear to gape at it. “You knew?” he said, once he’d recovered.

“That Natasha was a little? Pretty much everyone guessed except you. She’s not very good at hiding things, Cap.”

“So that’s why you sent me to the center,” Steve accused. It irritated him, that apparently everyone else had been in on something and he hadn’t. It seemed to be the theme of his life lately, ever since he’d been defrosted.

“I really did need a break,” Tony said, and Steve’s heart went out to him in spite of his aggravation.

“But I also thought it might work out, and looks like I wasn’t wrong.”

Suddenly a warmth spread along the front of Steve’s shirt and jeans, and Natasha whimpered, trying to wrestle herself out of his grasp as she lost control of her bladder.

Oh, Steve thought.

He patted her back and held tighter to her until she stilled. “It’s okay, shh,” he said to her. “It’s okay.”

He heard a car beep as it pulled up next to them.

“Wow,” Steve said. “You’re quick.”

“Said no woman ever,” Tony responded smoothly. “There’s a clinic down the street, I’ve already given the driver the address. Take the elevator to floor fifty-six when you get to the Tower, you’ve got security clearance… now.”

“Thanks, Tony.” Steve held Natasha on his lap in the backseat of the car. “What apartment, once I get up to fifty-six?”

“Floor fifty-six.”

“What?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to move into Stark Tower ever since you un-popsicled. You think I’m gonna stick Captain America in a dinky two-bedroom?”

So he got an entire floor? Steve wondered. Leave it to Stark to take everything to excess. Not that he’d mind, it’d probably be a lot nicer in Stark Tower than it was in his actual apartment. SHIELD digs were nice, but Steve still felt stifled in it.

“You’re the best, Tony. Don’t let that go to your head.”

“It already has. I’ll have everything ready by the time you get there. Take care of the kid, Cap.”

Natasha was shivering violently now, and silent tears were coursing down her cheeks. Steve pressed her head against his chest and ran his fingers through her hair.

“It’s going to be all right, honey,” he soothed. “Steve’s here, I’m going to take care of you. It’s all right.”

True to Tony’s words the car pulled up in front of a brightly-lit twenty-four-hour clinic, and Steve stepped out. Natasha’s legs were wrapped around his waist, he noted with a little amusement. He carried her into the clinic, one hand supporting her bottom. Even with the enhancement of the super serum, Natasha was surprisingly light. Steve would’ve been able to carry her in one arm, but he wanted to have Natasha as close as possible, and judging by the way she was clinging to him, that was the right way about it.

There were no other patients in the clinic, and after a quick conversation with the registration nurse, Steve and Natasha were led into an observation room just down the hall. Natasha let out a little wail as Steve laid her on the cot; surprised at her reaction, he quickly patted her belly to try to calm her down. Evidently, Natasha identified as a lot smaller than anyone had realized.

Steve glanced around the room. “Well, this isn’t particularly cozy,” he said aloud, more for his benefit than Natasha’s. “But I can’t let you stay in those wet pants. Let’s see what you’ve got in this duffle bag, how’s that?”

Natasha just stared up at him, and Steve smiled sadly, using one hand to unzip the bag while his other rested on Natasha’s cheek.

There were no clothes in the bag except Natasha’s adult ones, but underneath that, Steve was happy to discover several prefold cloth diapers, along with some pins. There was a small package of wipes, and, underneath that, a pacifier.

“Look what we have here,” Steve said gently, holding it out to Natasha. “Do you want this, sweetheart?”

She closed her lips around it immediately, but spat it out with a whimper of pain after the first suck. Natasha started to cry again, and Steve shushed her, still rubbing her tummy.

“I know, that nasty throat hurts too much, doesn’t it, Natasha? We’ll fix it, I promise.” He leaned down so that he was somewhat eye to eye with her, his tone a little more serious but still comforting.

“I’m going to change you now, okay? I’m just going to take off these wet clothes and clean you up and put a fresh diaper on. That’s all, just going to get you nice and dry.”

He waited, but when Natasha didn’t protest, Steve nodded to himself. He’d never changed a little before, but that wasn’t going to stop him. He wadded up Natasha’s wet pants and underwear and shoved them into a side pocket of her duffle bag. Taking a wipe in his hand he moved to clean her, and stopped cold.

Natasha’s skin was red and raw from what was evidently a long-untreated diaper rash. There hadn’t been any cream in her bag, and Steve’s heart sank. Natasha had most likely been diapering herself, and if she’d been hiding who she truly was from everyone for so long, there’d been no way she couldn’t have gotten a diaper rash. She’d probably sat in wet clothes during missions, not saying anything to anyone even through the pain of her skin.

“Oh, baby girl,” he said quietly. “I’m so sorry.”

“Let me get you something for that,” said a voice behind him, and Steve jumped, not realizing that the doctor had slipped in while he’d been so concentrated on Natasha.

In seconds she was back, and Steve accepted the small white tube gratefully.

“Thank you,” he said. “I had no idea that this was happening… that it was this bad.”

“That’s okay,” the doctor said, moving around the room and gathering some instruments for the examination. “That cream will help you fix her right up, Daddy.”

Steve’s head shot round to the doctor so fast he nearly got whiplash. “Oh, I’m not, I—“ He stuttered, feeling his face flush.

“I mean, I’m… I’m just helping take care of her tonight.”

“I see,” the doctor said just as easily. “Well, she’s very lucky to have you, then.”

“She said her throat hurts,” Steve said. “And I think she’s running a fever.”

“Can you open your mouth for me, Natasha?”

Her eyes were locked on Steve, and he smiled down at her. “Go ahead, sweetheart.”

The doctor shone a light into Natasha’s mouth, and clucked her tongue with concern. “I’ll need to run a culture but it looks like she’s got a pretty bad case of strep throat.”

Natasha gagged when the doctor swabbed her throat, and Steve leaned down to kiss her forehead as she sobbed. “You’re being a brave girl,” he whispered to her. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“I’ll need to get her temperature,” the doctor said. “But I don’t think she’s going to be able to hold the thermometer in her mouth. Can you help me hold her?”

Steve wrinkled his nose, knowing that it was likely going to produce a full-on meltdown, but he nodded, and gently rolled Natasha onto her side and held her hands. Realizing what the doctor was doing, Natasha opened her mouth and let loose with a scream. Steve tightened his grip.

“I know, honey,” he said over her wails, and held onto her as the doctor deftly inserted the thermometer into Natasha’s bottom. “That’s a good girl, hold still, it’s almost over, baby girl. Steve’s got you, it’s okay.”

“One hundred three,” the doctor said, and Steve gathered the half-naked little girl into his arms, jostling her to quiet her cries. She smiled at Steve. “I’m going to go test this culture, so you’ll have enough time to get this pretty girl changed, all right?”

Once alone, Steve walked the small expanse of the examination room with Natasha tucked into his shoulder. “You’re all right,” he said. “Don’t worry, you’re going to feel better soon, I promise.”

He laid Natasha back down onto the cot and picked up the diaper rash cream. He applied it quickly, wincing as he knew how much it must hurt, but Natasha only sniffled a little. Steve washed his hands, then picked up the prefold diaper and the pins.

“I don’t have any practice with this,” he said to Natasha, making a funny face at her. She didn’t smile, but she didn’t cry either. “So if I put it on kind of wrong I’m sorry. You’ll just have to show me how to do it later.”

Surprisingly though, it was easy enough. He pinned the diaper snugly around Natasha’s hips, and broke into a broad grin. She was adorable in just a diaper and shirt, even though he knew she felt horrible.

“Look how cute you are!”

“Not cute,” Natasha challenged him in a croaking voice, and Steve raised an eyebrow at her.

“Are you arguing with me?” he said, trying to sound stern, but he was still smiling. “Is a baby girl trying to _argue_ with me?”

He picked her up and settled her on his hip; Natasha rested her head on his shoulder, one small hand toying with his shirt.

“I sorry,” he heard her whisper.

“For what, honey?”

“Peed on Steve.”

He laughed, and kissed the crown of her copper curls. “The bad news is, that’s never happened before,” he admitted. “The good news is, I don’t care. Little girls sometimes have accidents, and I can go right home and change. Don’t say sorry for things like that, honey.”

The doctor came back after another few minutes and handed Steve a slip of paper with a prescription.

“She tested positive for strep, so this medicine will help. Keep her hydrated and resting, and away from others for a little while. She should feel better after twenty-four hours, and it doesn’t usually last longer than a week.”

Steve nodded and tucked the prescription into his back pocket.

“Doctor,” he said quietly, so that Natasha couldn’t hear.

“How old do you think she is right now?”

The doctor appeared thoughtful, then answered, “I wouldn’t know for certain unless I saw her classification, Captain Rogers, but going only by what I’ve seen tonight, I don’t think Natasha is any older than a year. In fact, I’d be surprised if she was older than six months.”

_Six months_. Steve glanced at the little girl that was nearly asleep against his shoulder, drooling slightly. Natasha Romanoff was a six-month-old baby, and she’d never had anyone to care for her except the Stark Center.

It made him angry, at himself, at everyone who hadn’t realized just how small she was, and at Natasha herself for not admitting it to anyone. But there was no time for anger tonight, Steve knew. Natasha wasn’t just a six-month-old, she was a _sick_ six-month-old.

“I’ll take care of her,” Steve said, looking at the doctor with resolve, and she reached out to squeeze his arm.

“Give her a cool bath when you get home, that should help bring down the fever. She’ll be fine.”

He couldn’t help but rock Natasha in his arms as the car sped toward the pharmacy; Natasha was restless and whiny but Steve knew that was from the pain, and for the most part he could tell that she actually did want someone there to care for her, even if she couldn’t put it into words. His own mind was going a mile a minute with everything that he would have to do once they made it back to Stark Tower, but he tried to calm himself down, for Natasha’s sake. He thought back to Jeremy, the frightened little boy, and his own probably also frightened daddy. It had seemed so long ago to Steve, and now he knew a little bit of what Jeremy’s daddy had felt.

Steve went through the pharmacy as fast as he could while Natasha’s prescription was being filled; he didn’t really know what he would need when they got back to the tower but he could at least get the basics. Baby wash, a few washcloths, a towel. He didn’t want to give Natasha her old pacifier since it was now likely contaminated, but goodness, he hadn’t realized how many pacifiers existed for him to choose from. He finally settled on a bright pink one with a strawberry on the button; he figured Natasha approved when he showed it to her and she made grabby hands at it while staring at him with sleepy eyes. He thought about getting her a onesie but the selection at the pharmacy wasn’t very good; he settled on a cute white shirt with purple flowers. They could buy her more later… The thought made him pause in the middle of the aisle.

_Natasha_ could buy herself more later, if she wanted to, he corrected himself.

A bottle and milk rounded out Steve’s purchases for the evening; even with his super strength he had a little bit of trouble carrying the packages, the prescription, and the little girl back out to the car, but he managed.

“You ready to go home?” he said to Natasha, nestling her close to him once again. “I’ll give you a nice bath, you can have a bottle and your medicine… you’ll be feeling better in no time, won’t you, honey?” When she didn’t answer, Steve sighed and nuzzled her hair.

“I’m sorry you’ve been so sick,” he said into the softness. “I’d have taken care of you long before now, if you’d just asked… It’s going to be okay, Natasha.”

If he was being completely honest with himself, it actually hurt Steve’s feelings that Natasha hadn’t trusted him with her secret. He’d thought they were friends, after all. They’d bonded while looking for the Winter Soldier, and even now, Natasha was trying to help him find Bucky again. She’d gone off the grid for a while after SHIELD had folded, but now she and Steve were working together to rebuild. He’d thought about dating her (that kiss on the escalator hadn’t been half bad, after all), but he and Natasha somehow both knew they’d be better off friends than lovers. Which was fine with Steve; he didn’t think he’d make a good boyfriend anyway.

But the idea of Natasha going so long as a baby without having anyone to care for her, and without letting even her closest friend – Steve thought he was safe in calling himself that – made Steve want to rip things apart with his bare hands.

This wasn’t about him, though, Steve knew. This was about Natasha, and how much she had been through. She had grown up in the Red Room; Steve was certain enough that being a six-month-old wasn’t an option in that “program.” So he had no clue if Natasha had always known, if she’d only just found out, if she’d been trying to fight it for years…

None of that mattered, though. The car pulled up in front of Stark Tower and Steve was faced with the realization that as of tonight, nothing else mattered except taking care of Natasha.

“Up we go, honey,” he said to Natasha, once they were in the elevator and riding quickly up to the fifty-sixth floor. “I wonder what Tony has waiting for me. I bet he has pictures of himself on the wall, what do you think?”

Natasha only stared at him blearily, still pawing at him, as if she was reassuring herself that Steve was there. He smiled, and brushed a kiss to her cheek.

There were, in fact, no pictures of Tony adorning the walls in Steve’s new apartment. It was actually very tastefully decorated with a mixture of new and vintage furnishings, and Steve grinned, turning himself around slowly as he took it all in. Leave it to Tony to provide a television of god knew how many inches in the living room, while also having an old-style rotary phone in the kitchen. Steve realized that somehow, in the brief time since Steve had first called him that night, Tony had arranged to have _everything_ moved from Steve’s old apartment to the new. All of his records were there, all of his dishes and furniture, as well as everything else that Tony had apparently had waiting for him since he’d been brought from the ice.

Steve put the milk away in the refrigerator and moved with Natasha down the hall to what he assumed would be his bedroom – but walked backward to peer into the first room on the left.

Painted in a gentle pink, the room was awash with soft lighting, and a distinct childish feel. There was a broad changing table against one wall, a little-sized crib on the other, and, to Steve’s delight, an old-fashioned white bassinet, much like the one he knew his mother had had for him. The drawers in the bureau were empty save for the top one, which had an array of both cloth diapers and modern ones, baby wipes and powder. Empty hangers were in the closet, just waiting for little clothes, and Steve shook his head.

“How on earth…?”

“Excuse me, Captain Rogers.”

Steve yelped at the disembodied voice addressing him, which caused Natasha to startle and burst into tears.

“Shh, shh,” Steve said, patting her back. “It’s okay, baby girl, it’s just JARVIS being creepy.” The latter part of his sentence came out accusatory, and Steve glared into the emptiness, just for show.

“I apologize for alarming you and the little miss, Captain Rogers. I only wanted to inform you that Mr. Stark took the liberty of establishing this room once he was informed you would be bringing the baby home with you.”

“How did he even know she was a baby?” Steve wondered.

“I believe he said that even a moron would know that, which, and I quote, ‘says a lot about Cap.’”

“Anyone ever told you your boss is a jerk?”

“On a daily basis, sir.”

Steve rolled his eyes. Now that he was in the coolness of the new apartment, he realized that his wet clothes were sticking to him, and Steve moved to gently lay Natasha in the bassinet. She protested loudly, and he once again patted her stomach.

“Steve needs to change, honey,” he said kindly. “It’ll only take just a minute, and JARVIS will watch over you, won’t you, JARVIS?”

“It would be my honor, sir.” As if on cue, a tinkling lullaby began playing from somewhere above their heads.

Steve watched until he was assured that Natasha would be okay momentarily, and he snuck off down the hall and found his own bedroom, just across from the little nursery that Tony had set up. He didn’t bother with a shower; that could be done after Natasha was asleep. Steve wiped himself down with a washcloth in the en suite bathroom, then pulled on a pair of pajama pants and a shirt after chucking his dirty clothes into the hamper. His stomach was growling; he peeked into the nursery and saw that Natasha was actually asleep, curled up on her side with her thumb in her mouth. That made Steve feel more comfortable with leaving her alone while he dashed off to the kitchen and explored the cabinets, relieved that Tony had had it completely stocked. He fixed himself the quickest meal he could think of – a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee – and wolfed it down in record time.

He didn’t want to spend a moment longer than necessary apart from the sick baby in the other room.

The medicine Natasha had been prescribed was a red liquid that smelled absolutely revolting and probably tasted the same; Steve steeled himself for the inevitable as he drew up a small dropper and took it into Natasha’s room. She was awake now but still listless, and Steve reached down to twirl a small strand of hair in his finger and watch it bounce back.

“You won’t like this,” he said regretfully. “I’m so sorry.” He pried open Natasha’s mouth carefully and drained the dropper into her mouth. She sputtered and let loose with another agonized wail that cut straight to his heart.

“I know, I know,” he said, putting the dropper on the changing table and scooping Natasha into a tight embrace. “I’m just mean old Stevie, aren’t I? I’m sorry. You’re really going to hate me before this night is over but I promise it’s all to make you feel better.”

She was still shivering, but he knew it was from the fever and not the cold. There was also a bathroom connected to the nursery; it was done in a merry white and blue with a border of yellow rubber ducks along the top of the walls near the ceiling.

“Tony’s pretty good at decorating, isn’t he, honey?” Steve said to Natasha as he sat on the toilet and turned on the bathtub faucet.

“I do believe Miss Potts had a hand in some of this,” JARVIS said, “But Mr. Stark has an eye for such things, most likely due to his own small status.”

“I don’t think Tony would like you referring to his status as small,” Steve joked. “You can take a break, JARVIS, I’ll holler if I need you.”

Steve had tucked Natasha’s new pacifier into his shirt pocket earlier; he offered it to her now and she took it, sucking gingerly still. He was hoping to stave off any screaming when he finally put her into the cool bath water, but somehow he doubted it would help all that much. He told himself again that this was for Natasha’s own good as he peeled off first her sweater, then her shirt, and finally unpinned her diaper.

“Okay.” Steve took a deep breath. “If you want to yell at me for doing this, you go right ahead, baby girl.”

Surprisingly, but most likely because she didn’t have any fight left in her because of the strep throat, Natasha didn’t protest when Steve lifted her into the tub. She just laid there, her eyes pitiful and red with crying, as Steve washed her hair and her body as gently as possible.

“I hope I’m doing everything right,” he said to her, more to dispel the quiet in the bathroom than anything. “I’m a caregiver, kiddo, but that doesn’t mean I know how to do everything. I’m sure if I do something wrong you’ll let me know when you’re bigger. You’re not exactly shy about voicing your opinion.”

Natasha still said nothing, but Steve considered it a good sign when one little hand reached up and grasped a finger on his idle hand. He finished washing her up but didn’t take her out of the bath, figuring that if she could stand it, leaving her in there a little longer could only help with Natasha’s fever.

“You’re a cute baby, you know that?” Steve said, affection thick in his voice. Natasha was already a beautiful woman, but something about her as a baby was just _adorable_.

“I don’t know why you didn’t want any of us to know about you.” Steve leaned on his elbow against the rim of the tub and looked at Natasha.

“None of us would judge you, honey. We are who we are. I’m big, Pepper’s big. But Tony’s little, and a lot of the other SHIELD agents are little. So are you. But you’re still brave and strong. You’re still Natasha Romanoff, the most badass woman I know. Besides Peggy.”

He winked at Natasha, then gently disentangled his hand from her grasp so that he could grab a towel and lift her out of the tub, wrapping the towel around her. She stumbled into him, the medicine clearly making her sleepy, and he laughed.

“Yep, absolutely adorable.”

Once he had dried her off, Steve moved Natasha from the bathroom into the nursery and laid her on the changing table. He diapered her after another liberal application of the rash cream, then pulled the new tee-shirt he had bought her over her head. She smelled fresh and clean, just like Steve knew a baby should, and he indulged himself in her scent for a few minutes, walking her up and down the room held close in his arms.

So this was what a caregiver really felt like, he thought. He could get used to it.

“Hungry,” came a little voice against his chest, and Steve patted Natasha’s back and carried her into the kitchen.

“How does a bottle sound, then? I bet some warm milk will feel really good to that yucky old throat, won’t it, honey?”

He was getting pretty good at doing things while holding Natasha, Steve noted with some triumph as he filled the bottle with the special formula for littles, and warmed it on the stove. Of course, that may have been because Natasha was sick, and perfectly pliant and accepting against his shoulder. There was no telling how things would go if Natasha was in her healthy, regular mindset.

Steve rather thought he wouldn’t mind finding out, all things considered.

There was an oversized rocking chair set up in the living room next to the couch; Steve collapsed into it and tucked Natasha into the crook of his arm, removing her pacifier. That elicited a whine of protest from the baby, but it was quickly quelled by the bottle.

“Little fussy thing,” Steve said, tickling Natasha’s cheek and grinning when she shoved his hand away. He rocked gently, listening to the sound of the baby suckling on the nipple, taking the formula in greedily.

“Slow down, honey,” he admonished. “We don’t need you to be sick to your stomach, too.”

Still, she finished the formula quickly, and Steve pulled Natasha up and over his shoulder, firmly patting her back until the baby burped. “There we go,” he said. “That’s a good girl.” He didn’t move her from her position; Natasha nuzzled her face into his neck while Steve rocked and rocked, his eyes closed. He knew that Natasha’s throat still hurt her, judging by the slight crying she’d erupt into every now and then, but for the most part the medicine and the rocking were doing its job, and soon she was fast asleep. Still, Steve didn’t move.

It was perfect, he found himself thinking. This was just like his dream. The warm heaviness of a little in his arms; only this time, she wasn’t faceless. This time, it was all Natasha. He wouldn’t let his mind think of “what if?” because it was clear to him that the only reason why they were even here was because Natasha was sick. He wanted more than anything for Natasha to be well again, but Steve knew what that meant.

This time next week, Natasha would probably go back to pretending. Steve wasn’t so sure he could let himself go back to that.

There would be other littles though, he told himself. Somewhere there was that little that was perfect for him. Someone who wanted to be little, and someone who wanted _him_. Even if he was ninety-five.

There had to be someone for him, right?

Steve sighed to himself and hauled himself up out of the rocking chair, Natasha still perched against his shoulder with her legs dangling. He patted her diaper-clad bottom as he carried her to the nursery. He wouldn’t have minded having Natasha sleep in the bedroom with him, but Steve didn’t know what mindset she’d be in when she woke the next morning.

He lowered her into the pretty white bassinet and watched for a moment; satisfied that the little girl wasn’t going to awaken, at least not yet, Steve found a fuzzy white blanket that was draped over the side of the crib and tucked it around Natasha’s sleeping form. The baby murmured in her sleep and almost immediately turned over on her side, her diaper making the blanket puff up almost comically.

“JARVIS?” Steve said quietly.

Rather than answer verbally, and risk waking up the baby, the lights blinked once.

“You’ll let me know if she needs me during the night?”

The lights blinked twice.

“Thanks, buddy.”

Steve wandered across the hall to his own new bedroom. He was asleep before his head even hit the pillow.

Three hours later, JARVIS’s calm voice brought Steve out of his sleep.

“Excuse me, sir, but the little miss—“

“Needs me,” Steve said, sitting up. He could hear Natasha wailing in the nursery. “Got it.”

He rubbed his eyes as he padded with bare feet into the nursery and peered down into the bassinet. Natasha flailed up at him, crying with everything she had, and Steve reached to pick her up.

“Shh,” he soothed, kissing her cheek. “Steve’s here, honey, I’ve got you.”

She was soaking wet, so Steve carried her over to the changing table and quickly stripped her of the diaper, applied more of the cream to her now less angry and red skin, and pinned another diaper snugly around her.

“There we go,” Steve said, a little tiredly. “Did your medicine wear off, too, Natasha? We’ll get you some more.”

Once again Natasha spat and squealed when Steve (as gently as possible) forced the medicine into her mouth. This time, though, she seemed to calm more quickly, and her fever seemed to have gone down, which Steve was grateful for. He tried not to let it show, but he was exhausted. He wasn’t used to this. He didn’t _mind_ it, but he also wouldn’t have minded a little advance warning. But asking for advance warning when it came to a six-month-old was like asking for… a metaphor he couldn’t think of, he was so tired.

If he tried to rock Natasha Steve knew he’d fall asleep, so instead he simply walked the apartment, staying awake by looking at everything Tony had set up for him. There were so many buttons that did so many things, Steve wasn’t sure he’d be able to figure them all out. But it was astonishing just how well Tony had tailored everything to Steve’s personality. As if he knew how difficult it was for Captain America to adjust to life when he was supposed to be dead, or dying by this point in time. Tony had even found a few pictures of Peggy Steve had never seen before, and mounted them on the wall in the hallway. It made Steve smile, and think that he ought to make a better effort to hang out with Stark and be friends with him. They were coworkers, they were teammates, but Steve thought that more than anything, Tony might want a real _friend_.

Natasha’s arms were wrapped around his neck, and Steve was surprised to realize that she was actually _cooing_ in her sleep. It was the most adorable sound. Still rough and scratchy, but mostly content.

“Oh, you’re a happy baby, aren’t you?” Steve said softly, rubbing her back. “Are you happy to be warm and safe, Natasha? You deserve that, honey. I hope you know.” He sighed.

He hoped she knew.

He tucked her back into the bassinet and retreated again into his bedroom, again with instructions to JARVIS to let him know if Natasha needed anything.

“Why the hell didn’t you wake me up?” Steve snapped at the AI the next morning, when he woke up just after nine to find Natasha gone.

She’d left everything except the medicine and her duffle bag. The diaper rash cream remained on the changing table.

“Miss Romanoff advised me that if I alerted you to her leaving the apartment, she would introduce into my system a virus from which I would never recover.”

Steve swore under his breath, leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed over his chest. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Was she at least _okay_?”

“Miss Romanoff still exhibited some signs of her illness; however, a brief scan of her vitals revealed that her temperature had returned to normal status.”

“Well, thank god for small miracles,” Steve muttered.

That was it then, he thought. Time to go back to ignoring that Natasha was little. That she was a baby who took care of herself when really, she deserved nothing less than to be doted on and cared for by _someone_ , even if it wasn’t Steve.

Back to pretending he didn’t know.

Back to normal.

Steve didn’t return to the center for two weeks, and when he finally went back, he learned that Natasha hadn’t been there, either. He knew part of it was because Natasha had unsurprisingly thrown herself into a mission with Clint out of the country. Avoiding _him_. It made Steve angry, made him bitter, and he didn’t like being angry and bitter.

Especially since Natasha wasn’t even his.

But damn it, he worried about her. He worried if she was taking care of herself, if she was taking care of that damn diaper rash. If she was getting enough to eat, enough sleep. If she’d even let her strep throat heal thoroughly before she’d gone dashing off to fight some evil that Steve wasn’t fully convinced even existed.

He tried to ask himself why it even mattered. It had only been one night. Not even a full night, really. Just a few hours of putting his own needs and wants aside and focusing on someone else. Only a little while of experiencing what it meant to have someone fully dependent on him for their well-being. And it had been so _wonderful_. There was nothing like being a caregiver, Steve knew. Oh, he had heard what it was like, had read the books when he was 16 and some more when he was decades older. He’d spent more than a couple evenings on the internet looking up things about littles and how to take care of them.

More than a few nights dreaming of what it might be like to take care of a baby, or a toddler, or even an older little, all his own.

And now he _knew_ what it was like, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He couldn’t throw himself back into volunteering. He managed to start going back to the center regularly, but he felt like even the kids could tell his heart wasn’t in it. He brought a bag with him now, full of things that he thought the kids might like. Coloring books, crayons, action figures. Tucked in another corner of the bag was a pink pacifier with a strawberry button, and a fleecy white blanket.

But he didn’t enjoy it anymore. It was unfair to look at all the babies and kids and see Natasha, to compare them with her. He didn’t _mean_ to, and he even secretly hoped that another little would come along to make him forget all about her. But it wasn’t working, and he was miserable. The last thing the kids needed was a miserable hero going through the motions.

On his last visit to the center, he looked into the room marked _Nursery_ on his way out.

The glimpse of her red hair nearly stopped his heart.

She was curled up in the corner of a crib, her arms wrapped around herself. Tear stains were visible on her cheeks, and Steve looked to the handler who was monitoring the other babies and toddlers in the room.

“Little thing cried herself to sleep,” she said, shaking her head as she came over to stand next to Steve and look down at Natasha. “She’s so upset she can’t tell anyone what she wants. She hasn’t shown up in weeks and then all of a sudden she’s here and sobbing so hard it scared the others. She’s not wet, she’s not hungry, and she’s not sick, so far as I can tell. Eventually I just had to leave her alone.”

“She shouldn’t be left alone.” Steve’s voice was calm, but still with an edge.

“There are ten babies in this room, Captain Rogers. I really don’t have time to waste on her.”

This made him turn around and fix his gaze on the handler. “Then maybe you ought to volunteer elsewhere,” he said. “If you feel like caring for a baby is _wasting your time_.”

The woman practically flounced out of the room then, replaced a couple of minutes later by the same flustered-looking man who had helped Steve with Jeremy, what seemed like a lifetime ago.

Steve reached into his bag and pulled out the pacifier and the blanket. He hesitated, before draping the blanket over Natasha’s still form, and placing the pacifier next to her hand.

He turned to go, but paused at the doorway.

“Tummy rubs,” he said to the handler. “She likes it when you rub her tummy. It calms her down.”

He told the director he wanted a week off. It was granted after a ten-minute argument, and Steve left on his motorcycle without telling anyone else.

He went back to his old apartment and slept on the floor. He ate convenience store crackers and cheese with water and felt old, so _fucking_ old. He thought about Howard, and the Commandos, and Peggy. He wondered where Bucky was, and if it would even matter if he ever found him.

Steve visited his father’s grave, placed daisies on his mother’s. She’d always liked daisies.

“Sorry I let you down, Ma,” he said.

He drove around aimlessly, spent a night in a seedy motel with a Vacancy light blinking just outside his window. He laid on top of the dirty bed and tried not to think about Natasha.

Four days into his self-imposed “vacation,” Steve’s phone finally rang.

“You done mooning?” Tony asked once Steve had picked up.

“Not really.”

“Good,” Tony said, his voice all too cheerful. “I’ll see you when you get home.”

“Aliens again?” Steve asked, already headed for his motorcycle.

“Is there anything else?”

At least they didn’t leave Washington in shambles like they had the last time. They might as well have, Steve thought, judging by the glowering looks Natasha kept giving him as they battled.

“Whose side are you on?” Steve yelled to her at one point. “Either shoot them,” he pointed at an alien bearing down on him, “Or shoot me, because that seems like what you really want to do!”

“Lovers quarrels are so much fun,” Tony said into his earpiece. “Especially when I’m not one of the lovers doing the quarreling.”

He was beating up another punching bag when Natasha found him three hours later. He barely spared her a glance, even though that glance told him all he needed to know about how tired she was. Steve wanted nothing more than to pick her up and carry her back to the nursery in his apartment, but instead he did what he did best.

Take his anger out on an inanimate object.

“Where have you been?”

“Here.”

“No. Before now.”

“Fighting. By your side. Or have you forgotten?”

He had drawn back his fist for another hit, but he stopped with a jolt just before connecting with Natasha’s jaw; she had slipped in between him and the punching bag.

“Four days ago. Where were you?”

“I went out,” Steve said, dropping his hands. “Took some ‘me time.’ Isn’t that what it’s called now?”

She was so close to him it almost hurt. He could see it even more clearly: the exhaustion on her face, the cloudy expression in her eyes. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in days. Also thinner, like she hadn’t been eating well at all.

“You didn’t think to tell anybody where you were?”

“I’m an Avenger?” Steve said, genuinely confused by Natasha’s line of questioning. “You think Tony doesn’t know where I am every minute of every day, unless I tell him to quit being a creep? All you had to do was ask him.”

Natasha put her hands on her hips. She was still in her tactical suit, covered in dirt and grime and some alien goop that Steve didn’t even want to think about.

“Maybe I wanted you to tell me.”

Steve laughed; he couldn’t help it. The absurdity of it was ridiculous, not to mention the hypocrisy.

“Like you told me when you went running off with Clint.”

“That’s different.”

“How?” Steve challenged. He didn’t like this; he didn’t like talking to anyone that way, especially Natasha. But he was just so worn out and hurt by constantly wondering “what if?” and coming up empty.

“You’re not my _little_.” He didn’t feel triumphant when the twitch in Natasha’s jaw told him he had hit too close to home.

“And you’re not my girlfriend. I don’t have any obligation to tell you where I am, or where I’m going. I don’t even know why you care.”

“Because we’re friends.”

“Are we?” Steve asked. He moved away from the punching bag to slump on one of the benches on the periphery of the gym. “Because last I knew, friends tell each other things, and there’s a lot you didn’t tell me, Romanoff.”

“It’s what I do. It’s who I am.”

“Bull,” Steve said. “You can hide behind whatever this is,” He gestured at her. “If you want. But I saw who you are. I _know_.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“Then why do you care that I left for a couple days?”

“Because I was worried about you? Because I knew we had a battle coming up and we needed you? Because like you said, you’re an _Avenger_ and you can’t just up and leave the rest of us to deal with things?”

Steve shook his head. He was done with this; there was no longer any point to wondering what could’ve been, especially if all they were going to ever do was argue.

“I had things I had to do,” he said, walking toward the door that would lead him back to SHIELD headquarters. “I may seem stupid to you because I don’t know how things work in the 21st century, but I do know that I don’t have to answer to anybody if I don’t want to. So if you can’t give me a good reason for busting my chops, then I don’t—“

“Daddies aren’t supposed to just leave!”

Steve froze. He turned around and stared at Natasha, who had gone pale with her outburst. Steve took a deep breath, something unfamiliar sparking in his chest, and walked slowly over to Natasha.

“Natasha?” he said quietly, coming to stand in front of her. “Do you… do you _want_ me to be your daddy?”

His question seemed to snap her back to reality, and her lips curled into a smirk.

“That’s what you’re getting out of this?”

“No.” He held up his finger as a warning to her. “You don’t get to just brush this off. You just said ‘daddies aren’t supposed to leave.’ Why would you even say that? I’m not your daddy.”

“Of course you’re not,” she scoffed, but her eyes were looking everywhere, anywhere but Steve. “You think you can just leave a blanket and a pacifier with me and that’ll change anything? I have pacifiers. I have blankets. I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can,” Steve said, gentling his tone so that he was almost whispering. “You’ve been doing that a long time, haven’t you?”

Natasha’s chin lifted in what could only be described as pride. “I read my file,” she said. “I pulled that thread four years ago, and what do you think I found out?”

Steve studied her for a minute. “You found out that you were classified as a six-month-old. The Red Room didn’t train littles, did they?”

“They trained murderers, Rogers. You can’t be a murderer in diapers.”

“But you go to the center.”

Natasha met his eyes, and Steve wasn’t surprised to see the glimmer of tears. “Sometimes I can’t stop it,” she said, and it struck Steve that this was probably the most honest Natasha Romanoff had ever been with anyone.

“Sometimes… I don’t know. Sometimes it hurts. So I go. Work it out. Back to business as usual.”

He felt like throwing up, honestly. The thought of anyone, especially Natasha, fighting their true self until it became overwhelming and they were helpless to do anything about it. Steve knew thanks to some discussions with Pepper that it was the same way with Tony, and it never ended well. He could only imagine how confused and scared Natasha would feel, because at least when it happened to Tony he had Pepper. Natasha had no one.

“Don’t you ever get tired of fighting it?” Steve asked.

“Like I said, I take care of myself.”

“You don’t have to.” Steve reached out; when Natasha didn’t flinch, he rested his hand on her shoulder, just like he had that day on the bleachers with Jeremy, weeks ago.

“Natasha, you can let someone else take care of you when it hurts. Or even when it doesn’t hurt, just when you want someone to take care of you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

“Right.” She didn’t believe him. “Like you? Wanna be my daddy, Rogers?”

Steve was quiet for a minute. His hand was still on Natasha’s shoulder, and finally, he squeezed.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t.” Natasha pulled out of his grasp. “I’m a bitch, Rogers.”

“Oh, believe me,” Steve said with a grin, “I know.”

“I wouldn’t make it easy for you.”

“I know that too.”

“I’m demanding. Moody. An assassin. Russian.”

He laughed and shook his head. “I know all that too.” He moved so that he was once again standing next to her.

“I know that you’re a bitch, that you’re demanding, moody. An assassin. Russian. That you like cloth diapers and that you’re really cuddly, especially when you’re sick.”

Natasha rolled her eyes at him, and Steve continued. “And I know that I hate swearing, usually, and I really like rules and when people follow them. I have issues being ninety-five in the body of a thirty year old, and I’m not all that good at believing I’m all right as a caregiver.”

Natasha may have thought that all her flaws were enough to keep Steve away. Steve thought his flaws were enough that Natasha _should_ stay away.

“But I know that I want to be your daddy. What I don’t know, is if _you_ want me to be your daddy.”

Natasha looked at him. His hand itched to brush away that tear that fell down her cheek, but she didn’t give him a chance.

“No. That’s the last thing I want.”

Natasha walked out of the gym.

Tony rented out Steve’s old apartment, which meant he couldn’t do anything but retreat to his new one. Steve shut the door to the nursery and his bedroom, laying down on the couch. It was one a.m. when JARVIS’s voice sounded through the apartment.

“Captain Rogers.”

“Mm.” Steve turned over to face the back of the couch.

“Captain Rogers, please.”

“No.”

“Steven Grant Rogers!”

“ _What_?” Steve sprang up to a sitting position and glanced around, bewildered. “What do you want, JARVIS? My mom’s the only one allowed to use my full name, and she’s dead.”

“I apologize, sir, but there is a situation that requires your utmost attention.”

“Whatever it is, Tony and the rest of the guys can deal with it.” He was in no mood to be an Avenger, not right now.

In fact, at that moment quitting seemed like a fantastic option.

“Actually, Captain, I think _you_ are the only one able to effectively handle—“

“Would you please just say what it is?” Steve said with a sigh.

“Of course, sir. Miss Romanoff is outside your door.”

“Tell her to go home,” Steve said sourly, and prepared to lay back down.

“Let me rephrase, Captain. Little miss Natasha is currently laid outside your door, and seems to be quite distressed.”

It took a minute for it to sink in, and when it did, Steve scrambled to his feet. He managed to slow down to a skid just at his door before opening it.

Sure enough, on the floor in his hallway was Natasha. She was asleep, her thumb in her mouth and her other hand curled around a pink pacifier with a strawberry button, and a white fleecy blanket.

“JARVIS,” Steve whispered. “How long has she been out here?”

She was soaking wet, and whimpering as if she was having a nightmare.

“Approximately two hours.”

“And you didn’t tell me wh- wait. Let me guess. Virus?”

“Virus. In my defense I alerted you the instant she fell asleep.”

“Good man.”

Steve squatted down on his heels. With a tentative hand, he brushed Natasha’s curls away from her face and gently shook her shoulder.

“Natasha? Natasha, honey?”

She stirred, and looked up at him with sad eyes, then glanced around, as if she was unsure how she had even gotten to Steve’s door.

“Hi,” Steve said, his anger at her melting away in an instant. “Would you like to come in? It can’t be comfortable out here.”

She was a (former) Russian assassin, and he had no idea what he was doing.

But she needed him. And he needed her.

Natasha pulled her thumb out of her mouth.

“Dada?” she said uncertainly.

Steve took in a breath, and let it out slowly. He looked into Natasha’s eyes, at the woman he knew lurked just beyond the little one.

“Are you still going to be here in the morning?” he asked her. “Will you stay so we can figure this out together?”

For a moment, Steve could see the conflict in Natasha’s eyes, before it was replaced with clarity, and slowly, she nodded. Then she reached out her hand, and curled her fingers around one of Steve’s own.

“Dada?” she asked again.

Steve’s face broke out into a broad smile and he rose up from the floor, taking Natasha with him, safe and secure in his arms. She buried her face in his neck and clung tightly.

“Hey, baby girl,” he said, and kicked the door shut behind them with his foot.

“Come on, dada’s going to take care of you.”


End file.
